


Enjoy Cock

by radtoro



Series: Something Stupid [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternating Timeline, Angst and Humor, Based in New York, Chef!Jackson, Jackson's POV, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Sappy, could I call this a romcom?, courtesy of Mark, editor!jinyoung, title may or may not be misleading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radtoro/pseuds/radtoro
Summary: Jackson goes to the store so Jinyoung can make pancakes. That same evening, he is faced with a decision that might change everything.It's not imperative that you read the first part, but I recommend you do![ 2 / 6 ]





	Enjoy Cock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inviboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inviboy/gifts).



> This one's for my buddy Jake, for putting up with me ^_^' I wouldn't be the writer or person I am without him!
> 
> I got hooked on this little universe after I posted the first chapter, [Soft-Hearted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070303), and I've always wanted to have a mini series like this, so this was the perfect match! Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Expect more soon(ish)!!

16:58, my phone reads. Two ‘til five. The screen fades back out to black, balanced on the edge of the bathroom sink, but my gaze lingers. I lean on the countertop and take a deep breath, hands spread apart on the linoleum countertop. I square my shoulders and make myself face my reflection.  
  
“Jinyoung,” I say, then cinch my mouth shut and shake my head. I clear my throat. “ _Jin_ young...”  
  
I stick my fist on the wall next to the mirror, hanging my head. Trying to find the perfect way to say ‘I love you' is impossible. I would know, I've tried for a year and a half like this, standing in front of a mirror and convincing myself that if I found a magic combination of words, it would change the outcome. But I still try, no matter how pitiful it makes me feel.  
  
“I... want to...” I groan in frustration and pull my cap off angrily. I tousle my hair, staring myself down in the mirror, then point holding the bill of my hat, a rumple of powder blue in my hand. “I want _you_. No...” I rub my hands down my face. “Too creepy, too Uncle Sam. Be romantic, Jackson.” My hand reaches out, grappling for a better phrase. “Romantic.” My reflection is squinting and his lips are puckered. “You, Jinyoung, _you_... are the love of my life. _You_.” I crumple my hat, brow trembling from focusing so hard. “You are an idiot.”  
  
I turn away from the mirror, drop my cap in the sink, and shake out my hands. “Come on,” I say to myself. “What if this is your one chance?” I grab my hat and throw it back on. “Say it and make it good. Make it magic.” I bounce on my toes. “Say it. Say it.” I turn back to the sink and jump in front of the mirror, like catching my reflection off guard will make him say something better. “Jinyoung, I--” My eyes catch the image of my roommate behind me. “Jinyoung!” I turn around, hiding my noise of surprise with a laugh.  
  
“Hi,” he chuckles, still in his coat, laptop case still in hand. “Hyping yourself up for something?”  
  
I giggle and rub the back of my neck. “You could say that.” I exit the bathroom and follow him to the coat rack. “Why are you home so early?”  
  
He drops his laptop case over the back of the couch as we pass it, then grins over his shoulder at me. “Why, do you not want me here?”  
  
“No, no!” I say, waving my hands. “Just... Surprised, is all.” I shrug, sticking a hand in my pocket. “I thought you were going to get that big project, the front-page article.”  
  
Jinyoung sighs, tilting back to let his jacket fall off his shoulders. My gaze follows it down. “I thought so too. But,” he shrugs a shoulder, hanging the coat up, “after _finishing early_ , my boss still just dismissed me.”  
  
I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder. “One day she'll realize what a blessing you are to that damn paper.”  
  
“And that, my friend, will be the day I quit.” He grins, bright and confident.  
  
I smile back at him, a very specific part of my heart tightening. I love seeing him smile, not covering it up and not shy. It's a simple detail, and a cliché, but I can't help myself; everything about him makes my heart grow as big as the moon.  
  
“So,” I say, “what do you want to do tonight?”  
  
He fishes his wallet and phone from his pockets then throws them on the TV tray we keep by the door. “For dinner?” he asks, heading for the kitchen. He opens the fridge and taps his foot.  
  
I sit down at the breakfast bar and rest my chin on my fist. “No, I thought you might've wanted to go out. Celebrate a short day, y'know, drink wine until you start reciting _Walden_ and comparing yourself to Oscar Wilde.” I grin, tongue-in-cheek.  
  
Jinyoung scoffs, mouth open (but his ears are pink because he knows it's true). “Shut the fuck up!” He reaches in the refrigerator and throws a little box of banana milk at me. “That doesn't happen.”  
  
I catch it. “Hey watch it! These have sharp edges.” I poke at one for emphasis.  
  
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t pursue the subject. He grabs a few things from the fridge, then drops the armful on the counter.  
  
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Pancakes?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jinyoung says. “Do you object?”  
  
“No,” I say immediately, which earns a chuckle. “As long as I'm not the one cooking.”  
  
The corner of his mouth lifts and he laughs once. “Alright then.” He turns his back to me, then searches the cabinets for a bowl the right size. The shirt tucked into his business-casual slacks slowly un-tucks when he tip-toes for one on the top shelf. A hum of displeasure slips from his mouth as he sets the bowl down and addresses the shirt. “Third time that's happened today,” he frowns, finally untucking the shirt. He undoes the two topmost buttons as well, for good measure.  
  
I can’t help myself. “Maybe you should just get rid of the shirt altogether,” I say, eyes pointedly on his half-exposed collarbones. His skin is still a little tan from the summer, making him look warm and soft in contrast to the sharp, delectable line of his clavicle.  
  
“But I love this shirt,” he says, looking at the rolled-up sleeves. “Just cause it’s too short doesn’t mean I should throw it out.”  
  
I duck my head, glad in a way that he didn’t understand what I was saying. I turn the little banana milk over in my hand and adjust my hat.  
  
“Shit,” he says. “There’s only one egg.” He looks up at me, putting on his beggar's face before he even asks.  
  
“I’ll go get them,” I sigh, standing and feigning resentment. I laugh to counteract it.  
  
Jinyoung dips his head. “You don't have to. I can make something else.” He grabs the pancake mix to put it back in the fridge.  
  
I put my hand over his, grounding the box. “Really. I don't mind.”  
  
“Are you sure?” He meets my gaze, brow pulled together and eyes guilty but hoping that I'll say yes. I only smile, because we both know the answer.  
  
“Yeah.” I place my other hand on his shoulder. “Not like I have another choice,” I say, but it's not malicious.  
  
He smiles but tries to hide it. His head turns away and down. “Well, I really _was_ looking forward to them...”  
  
“You don’t have to sell me, I already said I'd go.” I laugh and squeeze his shoulder, then search around the apartment for my phone. I jog back to the door and slip my coat and shoes on. As I'm grabbing my wallet from our table by the door, I call, “I’ll be back in a minute!”  
  
“Okay,” he says. He steps out of the kitchen to watch me leave. “Thanks again.”  
  
I wave it away. “Listen, take a shower or something, watch TV, _unwind_. You don't rest enough.”  
  
“Okay, _Mom_ ,” he says, over-dramatically rolling his eyes. There's a smile on his face when he's done.  
  
I open the door and blow him a kiss. “I love you!” I say, but he barely mumbles it back.  
  
   
  
   
  
The first time I told him I loved him, it was on a balcony with a city rushing by. The second time, it slipped out when he was leaving for work, and he only smiled and said, “You, too.” The third, after a long few months, had been a different approach. However, I only gained the courage to after becoming drunk. Not drunk on room-temperature beer and Jinyoung's cologne like the first time, but on lack of sleep.  
  
It was the two-year anniversary of our graduation from college. I had asked if he wanted to celebrate, and he said he'd just like to reminisce. This was a fine idea to me, but I proposed that the best way to revel in some nostalgia would be to have an evening spent like we had in those days. To pull an all-nighter, eat ramen with a Kraft single on top, and watch action-comedies. He'd agreed with a smile, and so it was set.  
  
The hour was something like three, and we had long since abandoned _Rush Hour_ in favor of talking. I sat in the floor, surrounded by throw pillows and disposable wooden chopsticks. Jinyoung was tucked into the corner of the couch with his knees pulled to his chest. His favorite blanket, a plush thing, weary-from-wash and faded grey, was draped over his shoulders. The hem of it came up over the back of his neck, rumpled and barely touching the bottoms of his earlobes. He looked _cozy_ , and the sight left me smiling helplessly.  
  
“I don't know,” he had sighed, coming down from a rant about boys he's dated (and boys he wished he had). “I don't know. No matter who I think about, they’re all just _boys_ to me. There's no special one, no love at first sight...”  
  
“You’re just not letting yourself get romantic enough with anyone,” I said. “Do you even believe in soulmates?”  
  
The corners of his mouth turned down. My stomach plunged with a hopefulness that I knew would kill me one day. “I mean, I want to, but I guess I've never really seen it firsthand, never felt it.” He rested his elbow on the arm on the couch and ruffled his fingers through his undyed, black-as-ink hair. I would convince him later this year to dye it when I went in for blond, but he would only ever take it to brown (despite my attempts to convince him of something brighter). At that moment, it was tousled and a tangled from him playing with it as he talked, fluffy in a sleepy way.  
  
I nodded, eyes down. My heart thumped thickly just looking at him, captivated by him. The sticky residue of want plagued me. There was a pain in my chest, sharp, yet sweet, which (not so strangely) reminded me of him. Without meaning to, I blurted it out: “I think we're soulmates.”  
  
Jinyoung's eyes widened, brows quirking with them, then they narrowed. He looked over at me instead of the sleep screen of the DVD player, a contemplative frown crinkling his chin. I met his gaze, barely lifting my head. Then, his eyes lit up with realization and his mouth went ‘oh.’ “You mean like kindred spirits, right? That we were close in other lives, so we were meant to meet in this life, too?”  
  
I leaned into the couch, resigned. “Yeah,” I said, because his description wasn’t exactly wrong. Maybe in our last life, we were together, and the feelings stuck around, or, perhaps, the next life is my chance, and my soul is gearing itself up for it, practicing loving him to get it right next time. I wasn’t sure if that was a comfort, but it kept me silent, anyway.  
  
“Did you ever feel that way about anyone?” he asked. I met his gaze, still dreaming up another life. “Like they were an end-all, be-all love?”  
  
At that point, I was too tired to lie, and too bitterly jealous of my past and future souls to make something up. I told him, “Yeah,” with my arm on the cushion and his eyes so pretty and intent on me. “You.”  
  
He smiled. “You’re such a flirt,” he said, then laughed, smile uncovered and warm. He patted my elbow with the back of his hand. “We already talked about us. I meant a boyfriend.”  
  
And there went my beaten, bleeding heart, into the cloying pit of sorrow somewhere beneath me. I shook my head. “No. Only you.” The smile I gave him was honest and sad, and I didn't care if this ruined it. I was half convinced we were dreaming anyway.  
  
He chuckled again, then just smiled at me. “You’re flirty when you're sleepy. It's funny.”  
  
I drop my smile. “You’re funny when you're asleep, how about that?”  
  
“Why?” he asked with a laugh.  
  
“Because you don't talk.” I folded my arms and turned away.  
  
He busted out laughing. “That doesn't make any sense!” He laughed harder, bent over and nearly falling off the couch.  
  
I watched him laugh, my arms folded and cheeks unsmiling. And maybe, I remember thinking, this was enough: Jinyoung laughing and happy, eyes crinkled and cheeks round, because of me. I didn’t mind being the laughing stock if he was the one laughing. If it was for him, if it was to keep a grin on his face, even if it wasn’t the exact love I wanted in return...  
  
Yes, it was enough.  
  
   
  
   
  
On the bus ride to the store, Jinyoung texts me an extended grocery list. I roll my eyes with a small smile; I knew he would end up doing this. I shake my head as I skim through it. The last one catches my eye.  
  
“ _And get something for yourself :) you deserve it_ ”  
  
My chest blooms with the warmest feeling, unable to suppress the smile that grows on my cheeks. This is how Jinyoung says ‘I love you.’ He's so shy and hard-shelled, has been hurt so much that it's hard for him to say it aloud most days. But things like this let me know. It may not be the exact ‘I love you, too' I crave, but it's an ‘I love you' all the same. It's a kind thought either way, but I already know what this text will inspire: I’m going to get something we both like, then end up letting him have most of it.  
  
I reply with a thumbs-up, then pull the chord at the window to let the driver know it's my stop.  
  
I hunt quickly for the items on the list, throwing them in my handheld basket as I go. I take a sharp turn into the breakfast aisle. Pausing at the Pop Tarts, I glance at my phone for Jinyoung's text. _Granola bars_ , it reads, then lists off different flavors that would be okay. I lift the bill of my cap to squint at the items at the top. Why are there so many flavors?  
  
Another man enters the aisle, whistling. It startles me for a second because I think he's whistling at me, but when I glance over, he doesn't share the gaze. The tune is one I can almost place, and for a second, I consider asking what song it is. But then he turns to inspect the other isle, and he looks so familiar it jars me. Sharp features, beautiful skin, and a suave gaze. He exudes an aura of confidence, but it's alluring, rather than the repulsive I usually find that kind of attitude.  
  
Jinyoung’s granola bars are right next to the guy. I approach him, head dipped. A polite “Excuse me” is mumbled and he side-steps wordlessly. I grab the box and he grabs the same flavor right after. As I tuck the box into my basket, his familiarity still plagues me. I glance at him as I turn away, as to seem inconspicuous, but the guy is already looking at me, lips parted in thought. He points lazily at me.  
  
“Do...” He tilts his head. “Do I know you from somewhere?”  
  
“Uh.” I smile politely, and then it hits me. It's Jaebum, from Jinyoung's work, the one that he told he loved. I recognize him from Snapchat stories Jinyoung has shown me. However, he looks different when he’s not posing for a selfie with weed smoke pirouetting around him.  
  
My blood turns icy, freezing my body and keeping me from running, which is my first instinct. I could lie, but where would he even know me from? I've never even seen him at my work, but I try that first anyway.  
  
“I, uh, I'm a chef at the Whole Food's. Do you have lunch at the sushi bar a lot?” I laugh nervously and grip my basket with both hands.  
  
He snaps his fingers. “Ah! You're Jinyoung’s...” My whole body tenses up. “…brother, right?”  
  
My smile gets tighter, like the sore heart in my chest. “Roommate. But we're close enough to be.”  
  
He nods. “My bad. I couldn't remember if he’d said ‘brother’ or ‘like a brother.’” He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m JB, by the way, from--”  
  
“I know,” I say.  
  
His confident smile falters. “I... take it he told you about our night out, huh?”  
  
I put my basket down to fold my arms (and I'm not gonna lie; I flex my arms to make them look bigger). “Yeah. What about it?”  
  
He inhales through his teeth. “Ah, look, I know what you're thinking. I'm not trying to get you to tell him to back off or something like that.”  
  
“Oh? Then what, you want me to tell him that you thought him saying ‘I love you' was, I dunno, cute or something?”  
  
He half-cringes. “Yeah, actually.”  
  
My jaw drops. Who does this guy think he is? “You want me to tell him to go on a date with you?”  
  
“I mean, yeah--”  
  
“You want me to subject my best friend to that? To let you lead him on because you know he'll crawl at your feet regardless of what you do or say to him? Just because he told you he loved you?” I hold up a hand. “No, you know what? Fuck you. Leave him alone.” I turn away, but Jaebum grips my arm and pulls me back.  
  
“That’s ridiculous! Listen to what I was going to say.”  
  
I yank my arm from his grip, then fold my arms. I raise my eyebrows, waiting.  
  
He exhales. “Jinyoung has been avoiding me since that night. I get that he's embarrassed, hell, I was too after he stormed out on me. But people say shit like that when they’re tipsy. I did think it was kinda cute, but I'm not going to take advantage of him like you’re thinking. Not that you would know this, but I’m not that kind of guy. I just want to take him on a real date. That night made me realize how well we could work together. I'm not going to let one slip of the tongue ruin it.”  
  
I blink, surprised (but I try my damnedest not to show it). “Well.” I clear my throat. “Why don’t you tell him all of that yourself, Mr. Nice Guy?”  
  
Jaebum extends a cold gaze to me but continues anyway. “I've tried. He avoids me like the plague. I never see him away from his desk now, and when I walk by, he ducks his head and buries his nose in his laptop. I was going to catch him today, but he was gone before I got off work. So, when I came to the store, I saw these.” He holds out his box of Jinyoung’s favorite granola bars. “He always has them at his desk. I was gonna get them to, I dunno, lure him into not being so embarrassed. And if he still wouldn't talk to me, at least he'd have something to eat at his desk, since he hasn’t been coming to the break room.” He meets my gaze. “But I think meeting you here is a sign. Will you talk to him for me?”  
  
I squint at him. “I’ll think about it.” I pick my basket back up. “How did you recognize me, anyway?”  
  
He grins in a charming way, then looks off into his memory. “The home screen on his phone is a picture of the two of you. When we were at the bar, he clicked it open and I asked who you were.”  
  
I nod. “You have a good memory.”  
  
He shrugs. “Just good with faces.”  
  
I nod once. “Well,” I take the box of granola bars from him, “I guess I'll see you around, JB.”  
  
“You can call me Jaebum,” he says. “‘JB’ is just the white name for the paper.”  
  
I laugh, frustrated by how charming this guy is turning out to be. I hate that I feel myself start to like him, just because I can relate to his statement. Jackson is my English name that my parents chose back when they sent me to an international high school in Hong Kong. I kept it when I moved here for college, it’s what Jinyoung and my other buddy Mark call me, and I've never had a nametag that didn’t read “Jackson.” But there’s just something nice about hearing my birth name sometimes. It sends me straight home when my mom calls me it over the phone, grounds me when the other chefs at the sushi bar insist on calling me by it. I don’t know. Sometimes I want to go by it in America, but I know that the accent will butcher it.  
  
“What was your name again?” he asks.  
  
I think about telling him my Chinese name, just for the sake of it, but quickly decide against it. Jaebum is a Korean name, and he didn't go through the effort of pronouncing it traditionally. So, I put on a tight smile and tell him my English name, even though I don’t want to see his sickeningly handsome face ever again.  
  
He nods and mumbles my name back at me. “It was nice meeting you. And thanks again.”  
  
I shrug. “Don’t thank me yet. Jinyoung could think that this is even more embarrassing than before.” I bare my teeth in a grin, thinking, bitterly, _If I ever tell him_.  
  
“Well, let's hope not.” He grabs another box of the granola bars off the shelf. “See you around.”  
  
I nod and watch him leave the aisle. I sigh and continue the hunt for my list, now with a heavier burden on my mind than finding the right power bar.  
  
   
  
   
  
I'd always known Mark by association. We went to the same culinary school, something near-prestigious tucked between Manhattan and Jersey. There were friends of mine that were friends of his, and I'd met him at parties and around campus, but we weren’t ever more than acquaintances. Post-graduation, I thought I'd never see him again. But, about a half a year after I started working at Whole Foods, he got hired across from me at the bread counter, and a week after that, I confessed to my roommate on a stranger's balcony. The next day, Sunday, when I went to work, he was the first to ask why I was on the brink of tears.  
  
And that was how I ended up high on Mark's couch Wednesday, wondering if he got baked because he was a baker.  
  
“Here,” Mark said after he took his second hit. He set a bowl of watermelon between us, a plastic fork on either side. “For cottonmouth.” He gestured around his face, then stuffed a cube of it into his gob. He slurped and chewed for a second, then, mouth full, he added, “And the munchies.”  
  
I tore my eyes away from the poster on his wall that I had been reading and rereading since the pull I took had hit me. I grabbed the other fork and shoveled a few pieces in silently.  
  
“So,” Mark said finally, dropping his fork into the half-empty bowl. “What’s this mess about your roommate?” He wiped his chin and leaned back into the couch. Then, arms folded, he squinted at me with a distant-eyed focus.  
  
I blinked at Mark, then grinned because I hadn’t been listening. “It’s been a long time since I've been high.” I giggled. “I mean, you joke about it, you draw the feeling to other feelings... But _man_...” I shook my head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been high.”  
  
He nodded for a while, what felt like a weirdly long while, then took another hit from his dry vape. As he held it in, he reached for the spoof (a toilet paper roll with a fresh dryer sheet tucked into it, to get rid of the smell), but it wasn't like it was needed much; the vape took care of a lot of the smell, and barely had any smoke output. His landlord, Mark had told me, knew that he smoked but “doesn’t give a shit as long as it doesn’t smell.” He expelled the smoke through the spoof, but there wasn’t any smoke. He just looked like a dumbass with a toilet paper roll on his mouth. I laughed.  
  
He grinned back at me, setting his vape and spoof down. He squinted at me like I was saying something important, but he was really, really high. I only looked back, wondering if in his mind I was saying something.  
  
“Tell me the story again,” he said. He rested his elbow on the tops of the cushions, one knee on the couch and other leg dangling off. “About your guy.” He popped another piece of melon into his mouth.  
  
“Oh.” An immense, sad ache ballooned inside of me, so big it felt beyond me. I had forgotten that weed made me more emotional. If I delved into this topic, I knew that I would soon start crying. “He’s my best friend.” _He's the love of my life,_ I thought. “He’s my roommate. Jinyoung. Do you remember him? He was the brother of a friend of Sandra's.”  
  
Mark lifted his head, about to nod, then paused. He shook his head. “I don’t remember a Sandra.”  
  
“Really? She dated Jay, when they broke up it was really nasty...”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Mark said. “That was a shame. But, uh, did you hear? Jay’s working in Paris now.”  
  
“Oh wow! That's right.” I rested my cheek on my fist. “The externship program thing. I thought you'd went with him after we graduated.”  
  
Mark nodded. “Yeah, me, him, and Sean. But the restaurant they stuck us in was like, ‘one of you is the new sous chef and the others go home.’” He shrugged. “They picked Sean. I had to come back to the states. Jay stayed, though. He said it was for the girls, but I think he fell in love with the city.”  
  
I nodded. “That’s how I felt about New York. It's just like how they say it is in the movies, y'know? Every day it’s kind of surreal.”  
  
Mark nodded. “Same. I could'a gone back to LA, stayed with my family, found a fine job, but...” He shook his head. “There's something about New York that feels... Right. It feels right.”  
  
I nodded and nodded, head swimming but now settled into the high. The poster on the wall caught my eye again. It was something fiery from a punk band with a soul singer, with tour dates etched at the bottom. It probably had a story behind it, where Mark got it and why, but I wasn’t particularly interested. Maybe it was only there because it looked cool, because it was mesmerizing when you were high.  
  
“Guess it's lucky we met again, huh?” Mark asked.  
  
I nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s what you call it.”  
  
Mark was silent for a moment. That's how I remembered him for the most part; quiet, reserved, almost intense. In retrospect, perhaps that was because he was always high. I had always known him as a stoner, never really thought he'd get anywhere for smoking so much, but... It's nice to be proved wrong sometimes. He took a breath, but it was a moment before he spoke. “What did I invite you over here for?” He laughed once, all air.  
  
I thought about it for a second, looking deeply into the watermelon. There were only a few cubes left, but a lot of juice. It reminded me of the handmade mug I had found at the thrift shop and had tucked away for Jinyoung for Christmas. And then I remembered.  
  
“Because I was a dumbass.”  
  
“Um,” Mark said. “Please, elaborate.”  
  
I exhaled. “I would start from the beginning, but I don't even know if there is one.” I looked down and shook my head. “We became roommates pretty soon after graduation. Almost instantly, we were inseparable, did everything together. And I feel like, even back then, I kind of knew. There was just something about the energy we shared, something unspoken and perfect between us. I mean, I don’t know if he feels that way too, but it's like...” I tilted my head and pulled for the feeling. “It’s like we complete each other. Like, I’m the sun and he’s the moon.” I gestured, left hand orbiting around an invisible Earth, mirrored by my right. “I'm always chasing him, but that's what turns our world. We balance each other out.” I dropped my hands. “I’d always felt that, and it had gnawed at me for months. I didn’t know what it was until Saturday night when we went to that party. Out on the balcony, all of that shit I feel for him culminated and snowballed and focused into this fist that just” I punched the air “hit me.”  
  
Mark leaned back in a delayed surprise. “He hit you?”  
  
“No. My feelings did.”  
  
“...That’s deep.”  
  
I nodded, and he joined me, appreciating my words for a minute. Retelling the story overwhelmed me with embarrassment and sadness and longing. Tears welled up quickly.  
  
“Then what happened?”  
  
“I...” Head down, I fiddled with my fingers. My throat tightened up, making my voice brittle. “I said it. I told him that I love him. And he...” I rubbed my eye as if it would keep back my tears. “He said I was the brother he never had.”  
  
Mark winced. “That’s harsh.”  
  
I nodded. “Yeah.” I sniffled. “But he wasn't trying to hurt me. I think he really thought that's how I meant it.”  
  
“Oof,” Mark said, shaking his head. “That’s harsh.”  
  
I wiped another tear from my cheek. “Yeah.”  
  
Mark was quiet for a moment, eyes averted. Finally, he asked, “So you really love this guy?”  
  
I took a deep breath, then met his gaze. I nodded.  
  
“Is he gay, too?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” I said. I sniffed. “He used to only ever talk about Chris Evans.”  
  
“Cool.” He nodded. “Do you think it was your approach?”  
  
“Well,” I shrugged, “we were both pretty tipsy.”  
  
“Then...” Mark kneaded his hands together. “Why don’t you tell him again?”  
  
“That’s the issue, man, is that I know now that he sees me as a brother.”  
  
“Oh, shit...,” Mark said, head tilted and eyes staring off. “You’re right.”  
  
I sighed, rubbing my forehead.  
  
“Well, here’s the thing, man.” He re-settled on the couch, his hand out to emphasize. “You're gonna fall out of love eventually. That’s how it works. Love doesn’t last forever, but affection does. You just gotta wait for all that infatuation and lovey-dovey-ness to fall away, and then embrace some of that friendly affection.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Trust me. I watched a TEDTalk about this.”  
  
I nodded and looked down at my lap, crying like a leaky faucet. “It's the weirdest feeling. It hurts so, so bad.” I frowned, the bottom of my chin cold from tears. “But I love him, and it feels so good to think about him and to be around him.” I lifted my head. “Have you ever been in love, Mark? Have you looked at someone and just known, ‘this... this is love?’ Felt it so deep in your chest that it feels infinite? Do you know what I mean when I say that he's the love of my life? That I was meant to come to New York, go to school, find him and love him?”  
  
Mark shook his head slowly, tears welling up in his eyes. “I wish I knew love like that. That's beautiful.” He turned his fist in his eye socket. “You’re a damn poet, man.”  
  
I shook my head. “No, Mark, I’m no poet. I'm just a man in love.”  
  
“Man--” Mark leaned over the watermelon and pulled me into a hug, squeezed the air out of me. “Then you love him, man. Show him your love until he gives it back. And don’t let nothin' get in the way of it.”  
  
   
  
   
  
The whole rest of the night, my stomach turns, mulling over what to do about Jaebum. The selfish parts of me wrestle with the selfless parts; the angel versus the devil on my shoulders. I don't know who I want to win. The entire bus ride back to the apartment is a seesaw between what I know is the right thing to do and what I know won't bring Jinyoung closer to loving me, but still want to try. By the time I reach my stop, it’s all neutralized out to a cold whirring in the back of my mind.  
  
Jinyoung is asleep on the couch with _Friends_ on the TV. I laugh to myself and shake my head. I sneak the groceries into their places and tip-toe into my room with a snack.  
  
I almost text Mark. He usually has some wisdom to impart, but I know he'd just roll his eyes at me for this one. He'd tell me to make my own decisions, but silently judge me for even considering not telling Jinyoung. I sigh and close out my texts, then open YouTube. It doesn’t distract me enough, and too soon, my snack is devoured. I check the time. While it's seven PM here, it's seven AM in Hong Kong, so I decide to call my mom. I talk to her on her drive to work, chat with her about the weather there and insist that my jacket is warm enough here. She asks how Jinyoung is and I nearly forget the word for ‘pancakes.’  
  
“He’ll be a good husband one day,” she says, her Cantonese clear and comforting.  
  
I swallow. “Yeah, he will be.”  
  
“Is he dating yet?” she asks.  
  
“No,” I say. “He’s been thinking about it, though.”  
  
She hums, satisfied. “What about you?” I can hear the blinker in her car. “Have you found a girl yet?”  
  
I wince away from the phone. “None of the girls here... pique my interest.” It’s not exactly a lie. I wouldn't date any of the girls in New York, but I wouldn’t anywhere else, either.  
  
“Then come home and find one,” she says. “I get so worried that you're getting lonely.”  
  
I sigh. “Mom, I'm not lonely. I have Jinyoung.”  
  
“Jinyoung can’t take care of you like a woman can.”  
  
I close my mouth to keep from saying anything. This conversation is quickly reminding me why I dread calling her. I tell her what she wants to hear. “You’re right.”  
  
“Of course I am,” she says, then in heavily accented English, “I’m your mother.”  
  
Shortly after, she arrives at work. I tell her to have a good day and she tells me goodnight. I breathe a gigantic sigh of relief when she hangs up.  
  
I lie on my bed and listen for signs of life outside my door. Silence rings in my ears.  
  
I change into a pair of boxers to sleep in. The print on them still makes me giggle: they're white and mimic the Coca-Cola logo, but it instead says, “Enjoy Cock.” A birthday present from Mark.  
  
After plugging up my phone, I curl up in my bed. I open Netflix and put on a movie. It doesn’t put me to sleep, so I end up hungry again. I peel my door open, holding my breath, only to find Jinyoung in the kitchen.  
  
“Oh,” I whisper. “Hey.”  
  
Eyebrows raised, he glances up at me. “Hi.” He puts down the banana milk he was trying to open. “Do you want those pancakes now?”  
  
I laugh. “Sure.”  
  
He instructs me to grab his Bluetooth speaker from the entertainment system while he preps the kitchen. It's a little thing, but it packs a lot of boom. I turn it on and place it on the breakfast bar. Jinyoung unlocks his phone and hands it to me.  
  
“Play Anderson .Paak,” he says. “And grab a blanket before you freeze.”  
  
I hum a laugh and pull the blanket from the couch over my shoulders as I scroll through his downloads. It's warm and smells like him--like fabric softener and aftershave, his near-musky, soft-smelling pheromones. I sit back at the breakfast bar and tap on the artist name. A track off of Malibu jumps from the speaker, startling us both. I turn it down to conversational volume and we laugh it off. Soon, Jinyoung gets into the beat, or should I say, the beat gets into him. He nods to the song, steps and sways back and forth. Once the cue for the vocals comes in, he sings along. I hide my smile because I know that even that will make him shy enough to stop.  
  
He taps a pat of butter into the pan and it spirals, leaving a sizzling path behind it. “Sorry I fell asleep,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to.”  
  
I wave his words away. “You needed it. You deserved it.”  
  
He nods with the rhythm of the song. “Guess so.”  
  
A few songs later, the first batch is done. He sings the whole time. He offers it to me, but I shake my head. “You’re the chef. You have to taste it to make sure it's good.” I gesture to the stack, then look at him through my eyelashes. “You wouldn’t want to poison your customer, would you?”  
  
Jinyoung rolls his eyes and laughs. “Fine. But only because I'm starving.” He twists the dial on the stove to turn the eye off, then carries the plate to the counter behind him. While he dresses the pancakes with peanut butter and syrup, I stand from the breakfast bar to join him and lean on the counter. He cuts a big slice out, sops up the syrup and balances it all on the fork.  
  
His eyes roll back in his head as the most awful noise spills from his mouth, a sound that I don't want to admit I've tried to imagine before. His lips curve as he chews, the muscle in his jaw tensing to a perfect rhythm. I can practically feel my pupils blow, my knuckles white on the lip of the countertop. My eyes follow a drip of syrup down his chin.  
  
“Is it good?” I ask, eyes glued to his mouth. I seal my lips tight, trying my damnedest not to lick them.  
  
He makes a noise of confirmation, almost a growl. My knees begin to jellify. “Jackson, you gotta try it.” He cuts a big triangle out of his stack of pancakes, then holds the fork out with the other hand under my chin.  
  
I let him feed me--what else am I to do? The pancakes are impeccably fluffy, yet crunchy at the edges. They’re just the right amount of sweet, a touch salty thanks to the butter, and the rich syrup wraps it all together nicely.  
  
“Ooh,” I hum through the bite. “S’good.” I give him a thumbs-up, cheeks stuffed full of deliciousness.  
  
Jinyoung laughs, covering his still-full mouth. “You look like a little chipmunk.” He points at me with his free hand.  
  
My contented smile quickly turns into a frown. I shove him. My mouth is still too full to speak, so I grunt and shove him again when he only laughs harder. This time, he stumbles back a step, but he doesn’t stop giggling. After a second, I can't help but join.  
  
Once we're finally left with remnants of laughter, and we manage to not choke on the pancakes, I sober up a little bit. Jinyoung is still smiling, and he goes for another bite. There’s a big part of me that always wants to see him happy, that knows that only I can get him giggling like this. But there's this other part of me, the one that keeps my mouth from telling him how I feel, that is poking at me and reminding me of who I ran into at the market. It prods deeper and tells me that I'm being selfish for thinking that Jinyoung is happiest with me. I agree with it. It pushes me to my knees and tells me that he'll be happy with Jaebum, and I let it. Two people bringing Jinyoung happiness is better than one, I guess.  
  
_Not ‘I guess,’_ it reminds me. _You know you aren’t everything to him like he is to you._  
  
“Jinyoung,” I say, and I hate that it reminds me of earlier this afternoon when I was practicing confessing. “I ran into someone when I went to the store.”  
  
He raises his eyebrows, mouth full and smooth, pink lips curving as he chews. “Who?”  
  
I take the fork from his hand and set it down on the plate. “Swallow first.”  
  
Jinyoung stands up straight and does as I tell him. He looks into me with concern and suspicion. “Who?”  
  
“Jaebum.”  
  
He turns away, embarrassed. “Then I don't want to hear about it.”  
  
I crane my neck, trying to find his eyes. “Have you really been avoiding him at work?”  
  
Jinyoung keeps his face turned away.  
  
“Why won’t you let him talk to you? You don’t even know what he’s going to say.”  
  
“That’s it,” he says, voice small. “Not knowing is better than rejection.”  
  
Oh, does that hit me like a familiar hot blade in the stomach--a feeling known all too well.  
  
“He wasn't going to reject you,” I say. Jinyoung peeks at me tentatively. “He likes you. A lot. He recognized me from your phone screen and was getting a box of your favorite granola bars to give to you.” I shake my head. “He wanted me to tell you to stop avoiding him because he’s been trying to ask you out. And...” I give him a toothless, hopeless smile. “He seemed really genuine.  
  
“You look like it hurts you that he's a good guy.” He punctuates that with a chuckle. “My taste in men isn’t _that_ bad.”  
  
“It’s not that,” I say. It takes me a second to find a way to speak without giving up too much. “I just... Don’t want to see you get hurt. I almost beat his ass in the middle of the Aldi.”  
  
Jinyoung laughs and shoves my shoulder. “No, you didn't.”  
  
I giggle and lean with it. “Okay, maybe not, but I did, y’know:” I flex my arms as an example.  
  
He rolls his eyes at me, then pinches the skin at my bicep. I shout and rub the spot.  
  
Jinyoung turns to the plate on the counter and keeps eating. I lean next to him, back to the counter. “He really wants to ask me out again?” he asks, voice so small that it makes my stomach tighten. “What if he just wants to humiliate me?”  
  
I exhale. “This isn’t high school, Jinyoung. And... I don’t think he’s that kind of guy.”  
  
He nods, chewing. “Was he really getting granola bars for me?” I can hear the smile in his voice, and when I turn to see it, it's shy and sweet.  
  
“He was.” I shrug. “I took it from him. Needed to let him know who the most important man in your life is.”  
  
Jinyoung shoves me right into the refrigerator. His lips are pursed in anger, brows cinched and crinkling his forehead. I should be scared, but I still find him adorable. I giggle.  
  
“What?” I ask. “Am I not?”  
  
He sighs, shoving me with less vigor. “What kind of question is that? You're...” With a huff, he steps back over to his plate. “You’re a dumbass. You could've scared him off with something like that.”  
  
I shake my head. “It’s not like I said that to him. And besides...” I nudge him. “He's too into you to get scared off.”  
  
Jinyoung smiles, a specific happiness crinkling his eyes that I haven’t seen in a while. “Did he say that?”  
  
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “He also said he wanted to eat your ass.”  
  
His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, blush covering his face quickly. “Wh--Really?”  
  
I laugh and say, “No,” then get ready to run. “But your face was priceless.”  
  
He punches me and I shriek. The blanket is dragged from my shoulders, but I just run. He chases me out of the kitchen and around the couch a few times.  
  
“You motherfucker!” he shouts, grabbing a pillow from the armchair. He throws it at my head. “I believed you!”  
  
After the pillow smacks me, I catch it and use it as a shield for any more damage he might deal to me. “I know,” I say, keeping from laughing for a second, “you looked really excited for it.”  
  
He cries out and vaults over the couch, then tackles me. We wrestle for a second, his hands gripping my wrists tightly. He pins me down and punches me over and over in the arm.  
  
“Ah! Hey!” I shout. “It wasn’t that bad!” I try, albeit weakly, to push him off me.  
  
Jinyoung lets go of me, sitting up and straddling my legs. I gulp. Oh, how many times I have dreamed of him in the same place but in very a different circumstance. The R &B still plays from the kitchen, all treble but still ear-catching. The blush from being upset drains slowly as he catches his breath, staring me down until the song ends. I feel his thighs relax over mine but try not to think about it (which is a form of thinking about it). I regret not putting pants on.  
  
Jinyoung punches me one last time, just for good measure. “Should I Snapchat him now or wait until tomorrow?”  
  
I find that my heart breaks just a bit more when he says this, but it’s not anything new. The twinge of pain is familiar but upsetting in its manner and I only have myself to blame for it. I humored Jaebum, and I am too loyal to Jinyoung to have kept it from him. _That_ I did to myself, and I will have to lie through my teeth until they inevitably break up, and beyond then, even. But, deeper, I know I fell in love of my own accord. When my feelings for Jinyoung began to bud, I didn’t nip them, and when they inevitably blossomed, I didn’t stomp them down. I poked at the feeling, irritated it until it was angry. I fed it, nurtured it, and cultivated it until it became the sweetest ache, the saddest swell of affection I'd ever known and now... Now I must reap the cruel fruits of it.  
  
“Tomorrow,” I tell him, voice even from a year and a half of lying. “Play it cool.” I pat his chest twice and let my hand stay pressed against the warm, white cotton of his shirt.  
  
Jinyoung stands up using my stomach as support under his hand. I grunt. He grumbles about his pancakes getting cold, blaming it on me. I watch him walk around the kitchen putting things away, asking himself more than me what he should open his text with.  
  
I crawl to the couch and climb onto it like a child. Jinyoung has gone silent, finishing his stack of pancakes with a smile. It’s something sweet and small, lost in daydream. I can tell he's thinking about Jaebum, but as much as it hurts, it doesn’t hurt as bad as seeing Jinyoung unhappy.  
  
I hear my phone ring in the next room. A dread in my stomach predicts it to be my mother. I run into my room and as I dive for it, I see that it’s Mark. Right at the last second, I grab it and slide to answer.  
  
“Hey, man,” I say. “Everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, hey, yeah,” he replies, and I can tell he’s high. I’m not surprised. “Listen, Jay just called. You remember him?”  
  
“Yeah,” I say. “He still working in Paris?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Mark says. “That’s actually what he called about.” A smile forms in his voice. “How does a promotion from sushi chef sound?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading!! if there's any criticism you might have, please share it with me!! I'll only get better if i have things to improve upon (^_^)b Same goes for anything else you'd like to say, it makes my day!


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